Don't Thank Me Yet (It's Christmas)
by diceandpokerchips
Summary: Arthur's all set to get through his first Christmas alone, but a job gone wrong and a mark with a vendetta means that Eames gatecrashes his not-so-festive festivities, and changes their entire relationship. Rated T for language, slash but no smut.


**Just a little Christmas oneshot that I've been working on for the last week. I'd started in November, but I hated what I'd written and started again, so it's just been a mad rush to get this up before Christmas was over. I hope you like it.**

* * *

**Don't Thank Me Yet (It's Christmas)**

**18th December 2012**

**Prelude:**

Arthur closed the front door of his Parisian apartment behind him. Instantly, he dropped his holdall, and lowered the PASIV to the floor, exhausted. After Saito had cleared Dom's charges, Arthur had assumed his life would carry on at a much slower pace. That was not the case, as word had somehow gotten out that the team had pulled off an inception, and all of them were desperately sought after in the dreamsharing world. Arthur had accepted as many jobs as he could, hoping to establish himself a name that _wasn't_ attached to Dom Cobb's, and to get an idea of which extractors in the business were competent, and which weren't.

In eighteen months, Arthur had hopped from one job to the next, never once taking a break. Dom had retired from illegal dreamsharing after the Fischer job. Ariadne finished college and started work in legal dreamsharing; Yusuf had gone back to Mombasa to continue monitoring his dream den and Saito had gone back to being a powerful businessman. Eames was a different story. Arthur had seen Eames quite a few times since they'd debarked in Los Angeles with an inception under their belt. Within two days, Arthur had been contacted about an extraction in Moscow, and he'd accepted and left immediately. Arriving at the warehouse, Arthur was surprised to see Eames, too, had been approached about the job. Pleased to see a familiar face, Arthur unconsciously spent most of his time with Eames; even brushing off the forger's incessant teasing with a roll of his eyes. In their line of work, it was difficult to find someone to trust; a fact that had always made Arthur wary of Eames, knowing the forger's background. The inception had changed everything; in a business where relying on anyone left you open to treachery, Arthur found a mutual trust in Eames. They'd survived a militarised subconscious under heavy sedation. If Eames was ever going to let Arthur down, he had let the perfect opportunity slide.

Three jobs, and six months later, Arthur and Eames had struck up a tentative friendship. On the outside, nothing had changed. Eames still tipped Arthur's chair, and called him darling, and eyed his suits with amusement, and Arthur was still condescending, demanding and threatened to shoot Eames in the kneecaps whenever he didn't pay enough attention. Anyone who didn't know them well wouldn't have picked up on the subtle differences in their conversing. But they were there, the way Arthur's eyes crinkled when he walked into the warehouse on their next job in Dubai, the way Eames' urgently sought out Arthur when they woke up, and the way his shoulders relaxed when the point man stirred awake.

It was as much of a friendship as it was possible to have in their business, but neither of them ever attempted to contact the other in the few days they were between jobs. After their fifth job together, Eames dropped off the radar. The last four jobs Arthur had taken; Eames was nowhere to be found, regardless of whether or not the team was looking for a forger. Arthur found himself working with a pretty redhead, who was a decent forger, but didn't quite have Eames' finesse. On more than one occasion, Arthur wondered if he should look for Eames, to see if he was in trouble, but never followed through on it. Eames knew how to contact him if he needed help, and Arthur doubted that Eames would appreciate it if he meddled. And it wasn't unusual behaviour for Eames to go to ground without a word.

Still, Arthur couldn't help but be concerned. Eames was the only person he knew in dreamsharing now, and he wanted to be sure he was safe. Arthur resolved to check up on him after Christmas, once he'd finished his vacation.

Stowing the PASIV in his closet, Arthur slid his holdall to one side, too weary to unpack. Eighteen months of non-stop dreaming and a red eye flight had completely drained him. Arthur moved to his front door, securely bolting the door. While Arthur was positive he was the only person who knew about this apartment, aside from Eames, his years in the military installed in him to expect the unexpected and to be prepared for it. For that reason alone, as he shed his clothes and slid into bed, he had two guns, a knife and a lockpick all within reach.

When he awoke, only four hours had passed. Wide awake, Arthur slid out of bed, and headed for his shower, only stopping to grab his shower gel and shampoo from his holdall. Arthur welcomed the hot spray, feeling it wash away the tension that even sleep had not managed to shed. When he was finished, he unpacked his holdall, dressing in a pale grey button down shirt, and a pair of dark jeans. Outside of working, Arthur didn't bother with smart attire. His sartorial choices were a lot more relaxed; a reflection of his own personality. When his life wasn't on the line, Arthur was a lot less uptight.

His stomach growled; reminding him that it had been a long time since he last ate. Reaching for his wallet, Arthur headed out to the nearest store to stock up his apartment for the short time he intended to stay. In between adding fresh ingredients to his basket, Arthur reflected on his decision to take a month away from dreamsharing. Somnacin was still largely untested; the long term effects had not yet been discovered. Arthur didn't intend to work with the PASIV much longer, it was only curiosity that had made him agree to Project Somnacin, and ability that had kept him going. He'd made more money that he would ever spend in his lifetime, and he didn't want to be in a career of dubious legality when he ended up on the wrong side of sixty, alone. He did want to find a partner and settle down, and the dreamsharing community was small. He'd have to retire before finding a partner, and he wanted to do that sooner rather than later.

Back in his flat, Arthur unpacked his groceries, deciding to make a vegetable soup. He chopped and sliced the veg as required, and made his soup with a practiced hand. He'd learnt to fend for himself from a very early age, recognising that he had to learn to cook or starve. It was one of the attributes that had made him an excellent soldier.

After he'd eaten his fill of the soup, and frozen the rest, he began to feel tired again. Noting it was after midnight, he quickly stripped and slid into bed, relishing the feel of the cool sheets that were imbibed with his scent and his washing powder, not that of a hotel. He checked his gun was in reach, and drifted off to sleep.

His eyes snapped open two hours later, hearing movement. In a practiced motion, he quietly reached for his gun, listening sharply. It was something that had saved his life on countless occasions. When other soldiers had heard a sound and reacted quickly, Arthur had acquired a weapon silently, but waited to take stock of the situation. He sat up quietly, his eyes adjusting to the dark as he slid out of bed, clad in only a t-shirt and boxer briefs. He heard the sound again, a clink of metal and he recognised it instantly. Someone was picking the lock on his front door. Arthur removed the safety from his Glock and moved swiftly towards the sound. His eyes darted around calculatingly. When the door opened, there was an alcove where Arthur kept his coat that would be in the blind spot. He moved there silently, his gun held tightly.

A slight click was the only sign that whoever was picking the lock had succeeded, but Arthur heard it. The handle turned slowly, but didn't give, due to the bolts.

"Shit." The would-be intruder coughed, and Arthur's eyes widened. He moved to the door and slid back the bolts. While he recognised the voice, there was still the possibility of a trap, so he didn't lower his gun. He slid the door open a fraction, and pointed the barrel right between the eyes of the man kneeling on the floor.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Eames?" Arthur gritted his teeth, clicking the safety back on and lowering the weapon. "I almost fucking shot you."

"Darling." Eames' words were half slurred. "I'm glad to see you."

Arthur's gaze grew cold. "Are you _drunk_?" He reached for Eames' arm to yank him up, but a hiss from the forger stopped him. It was then he noticed the blood seeping through the left arm of Eames' jacket.

"Fuck! What happened?" He opened the door wider to let Eames in.

"Shot. My arm." Eames hissed. Arthur nodded and hauled Eames to his feet, taking care not to touch the injured arm. He kicked the door shut behind them as he helped Eames to the kitchen table, lowering him into the chair. Methodically and precisely, Arthur reached for a pair of scissors, and cut Eames' sleeve off his jacket.

"I'd apologise for ruining it, but that jacket should be fucking burnt." Arthur told him. Eames managed a weak grin, marred by the grimace as Arthur examined the wound, gravely.

"It's only a flesh wound, but some of the bullet has snapped off and is sticking out of your arm. I can try and take it out, or I can take you to hospital if you'd prefer?"

"No hospitals. Trust you." Eames said, gritting his teeth. Arthur nodded, uncertainly, and reached for the first aid kit. He sterilised a pair of tweezers, and, without hesitation, lowered them to the wound. A slight tightening around the eyes was the only tell that Eames even felt the pain, and Arthur couldn't help but be impressed, knowing that he'd have probably gasped had the situation been reversed. He grasped the shrapnel easily, and gripped it tightly. His eyes met Eames', who gave a sharp nod. Arthur gently applied pressure to the metal, and Eames gritted his teeth. Noticing that Eames was in a lot of pain, Arthur quickly pulled it out, and Eames' hissed loudly, biting through his lip.

Arthur gave Eames a tissue to staunch the blood flow on his lower lip, as he used rubbing alcohol and a cloth to sterilise the wound on the forger's arm. Eames gasped in pain and, out of respect, Arthur pretended not to see the tear that leaked out of his eye, applying the bandage quickly and taping it in place.

He gave Eames a glass of water and two strong painkillers, packing away the first aid kit as the forger swallowed the pills. He pointed Eames to the door that was for the spare room, and Eames moved towards it gratefully.

"Thank you, darling." He said.

Arthur stared at him. "Don't thank me yet." He said, sharply. "We're going to talk about this in the morning, and don't even _think_ about leaving, or I swear to God, I will shoot your other arm. Are we clear?"

Eames nodded. Satisfied, Arthur made his way to his own room, sliding in to bed, but sleep evaded him as the guilt flooded through him, that maybe he should have checked up on Eames after all.

* * *

**19****th**** December 2012**

**Day One:**

The next morning, Arthur slid out of bed, having only managed to sleep for an hour after Eames' arrival. After dressing, he placed a glass of water and more painkillers beside Eames' bed and set about making pancakes for breakfast. He tried to be as quiet as cooking would allow, but when he heard Eames enter the room behind him, he realised he must not have been successful.

"Darling, could I possible trouble you for a robe or a t-shirt of some sort?" Eames asked, hoarsely, running his good hand through his hair, awkwardly.

Arthur turned around to speak, and blinked, jaw dropping slightly. Clad in only boxers and a bandage, Arthur's eyes travelled from Eames' bed hair, down his chiselled, inked torso, past his bright purple boxers, adorned with blue stars, which didn't leave much to the imagination, to his bare feet. His mouth went dry, and he swallowed before replying.

"I don't think any of my clothes would fit you." He said at last. "We're the same height, but I'm a little slimmer than you. I'll run out after breakfast and pick up something for you to wear. In the meantime, there's a bathrobe on the inside of the bathroom door. Feel free to take a shower."

Eames nodded. "Thank you, Arthur."

"Don't thank me yet." Arthur called after him. "I still want to know what the fuck happened."

He didn't hear Eames' reply, but it was practically guaranteed that it was meant to annoy, so Arthur ignored it, rather than call out for the forger to repeat himself. He added more mixture to the frying pan and began flipping the next pancake. When Eames returned, Arthur had made a decent size stack for each of them.

"Syrup?" He offered, placing it on the table. "There's coffee or orange juice, I know you prefer tea, but I wasn't exactly expecting your company." He said dryly.

Eames grinned, sheepishly. "I wasn't actually expecting you to be here, darling. I thought you were still in Ottawa."

Arthur's interest was piqued, and he raised an eyebrow. "The job finished two days ago. You've been keeping tabs on me?"

Eames looked at Arthur, warily. "Are you saying you don't keep track of where I am? Cobb would never have known that I was in Mombasa, darling."

Arthur smiled. "I used to. I haven't kept tabs on you since the Fischer job. Mainly because we've worked the same jobs, and then when you disappeared, I decided to just look for you if I needed you." He hesitated. "I considered it when you fell off the grid. Actually, I was going to look for you tomorrow, to see if you needed my help."

Eames grinned, and picked up his knife and fork, wincing as he cut through the pancakes. Arthur glanced at the plate in dismay, realising he hadn't accounted for Eames' arm. Eames noticed Arthur's worry and shook his head.

"It's just a flesh wound." He assured him. "It's not my first, and I'm sure it won't be my last. I just have to carry on as normal and ignore the pain."

"What happened?" Arthur demanded. When Eames hesitated, he scowled. "You fucking turned up, bleeding on my doorstep, and you're seriously refusing to tell me who shot at you? We both know I can find out the full story in less than two minutes if I want to, so why don't you just tell me?" He gestured towards his laptop threateningly.

Eames met his gaze, unflinchingly, but Arthur didn't relent. If Eames was in any sort of trouble, he needed to know about it. It could affect any future jobs, never mind the fact that Eames was in his house and anyone could have followed him here. Eames sighed, dropping his eyes.

"Fine." He conceded. "You remember our second last job together?"

Arthur nodded, taking a bite of his pancakes. "Sure, the Carlisle job in Dubai. What about it?"

"Well, I wouldn't expect to work with any of that team again." Eames replied, bitterly. "They're dead."

At Arthur's start, he continued. "No, no, no, don't be silly, Arthur. I didn't kill them. You remember your research showed that Carlisle had met with an extractor on numerous occasions?"

Arthur nodded, frowning. "But when we were in his subconscious, they hadn't been militarised." He pointed out.

"True." Eames nodded, chewing thoughtfully. "Because that's not what the extractor taught him. Carlisle can remember his dreams."

Arthur's fork dropped to the plate with a loud _clink_. "He knows?"

"He knew." Eames corrected. "I took care of it. A friend owed me a favour, any word of a hit on either of us, and he let me know. I got the call the day we finished the Jakob job in Frankfurt, that Amber and Matthias were dead, and that you were next, so I dealt with it. Unfortunately, I didn't consider that Carlisle had an equally powerful brother, Francis, so I had to flee London. They followed me as far as Calais, and then I lost them."

"His brother?" Arthur swore, quietly. "I have to…"

"You have to do _nothing_." Eames interrupted firmly. "This is _my_ problem, and I'll deal with it."

The point man frowned. "He's after both of us, Eames, not just you."

"And he doesn't have a clue where you are, and I took a bullet to the arm to keep it that way." Eames argued. "Don't be so bloody stubborn, Arthur. Let me deal with it."

Arthur turned his head to meet Eames' grey eyes, and saw that the forger wouldn't back down from this. He nodded, once.

Eames' expression turned awkward, and Arthur's eyes narrowed as he pondered on what the forger was trying to say. When he realised, his eyes widened perceptibly and he shook his head quickly.

"Oh, hell no. No. No way. You are _not_ staying here. It's Christmas!" Arthur refused, putting his foot down firmly.

"I can't travel like this, darling." Eames pleaded. "Where's your Christmas cheer?"

Arthur groaned; his head in his hands. "It disappeared when you bled your way into my apartment. Can't you book into a hotel?"

Eames shook his head, grinning, pointing out that he didn't know which of his credit cards Carlisle's brother was monitoring.

"One week." Arthur said firmly, raising his index finger. "You can stay here one week, and then I don't want to see you again for at least six months."

"I appreciate it, darling. Can I borrow your laptop?" Eames asked, hopefully. Arthur just groaned again, and Eames took that as a yes, grabbing it and disappearing into the spare room, only to pop his head back out and remind Arthur that he needed clothes if the American wasn't busy. As Arthur headed to his car, he told himself that the only reason he was obliging the annoying Brit was that Eames would be even more distracting if he walked around wearing only purple boxer shorts for a week.

He was sorely tempted to make Eames wear items from a thrift store, but he knew that the forger would wear anything Arthur brought back without complaint, and it would be his own eyes that paid for the brief moment of humour. In the wake of that realisation, Arthur headed to Armani. It was only when he arrived, that he realised he didn't know Eames' size. He reached for his cell phone to call the forger, and realised Eames would probably have ditched his phone. Sighing irritably, he dialled the number of the flat. On the third ring, Eames picked up.

"Bonjour?" His accent was flawless. Arthur couldn't help but feel impressed that Eames implemented decent security measures, and didn't pick up the phone in his usual accent.

"Eames? I need your size." He sighed, patiently.

"Darling!" Eames sounded overjoyed to hear from him, and rattled off his sizes quickly. Arthur listened, and thanked him. He hung up, and headed in find Eames enough items of clothing to wear until he could go home. He picked up shirts and trousers, sweatpants and t-shirts, jeans and socks, two belts, two jackets, sneakers and shoes. The only time he felt awkward was when he was buying Eames underwear. He knew from that morning that Eames wore boxers, so he picked the first ones he laid his hands upon. On the way to pay for the items, Arthur spotted a pair of gloves, black leather, with grey wool inside for warmth. Not something he would ever consider, but he knew Eames would like them. Before he'd thought about it, he plucked them from the stand, and added it to the pile of clothing on the counter. He slipped his credit card from his wallet, and paid for everything, asking that the gloves be gift wrapped. Even though Eames would be gone by Christmas, they were still a nice enough gift.

When he returned to his apartment, Arthur deftly slid the gloves into his dresser, and dropped off the bags of clothes in the room that Eames seemed to have taken over. He hesitated in the doorway.

"Do you need a hand with anything?" He asked. Eames shook his head, not looking up from the laptop.

"No, I'm good." He paused. "I can make us dinner tonight if you like, as a thank you for letting me stay. And I'll pay you back for the clothes as soon as I can access my accounts safely."

Arthur let a corner of his mouth quirk up. "Eames, as if I would ever let you near a stove. You'd poison me. And I've already taken the liberty of accessing your account. I directed it through Calais, so anyone looking will think you're still there. I received quite a generous tip for my efforts."

He headed to the living room, grinning as Eames made a strangled noise after him. He hadn't actually taken a tip, but it didn't do any harm to make Eames think that he had. It was only when he reached the living room that he realised that he didn't actually know what to do with himself. It had been so long since he'd been between jobs; he'd forgotten how to relax. Arthur moved to the bookshelf in the corner, and skimmed the titles. He selected Life of Pi, a book he'd been meaning to read for a while, but hadn't gotten round to.

He read and read until he'd finished the book, acknowledging the twist with a raise of his eyebrow, fairly impressed. When he'd read the final page, he closed the book, and glanced up to see Eames standing in the doorway, watching him intently.

"How long have you been there?" Arthur asked, flushing slightly.

Eames smiled. "Just a moment. I was wondering about dinner, but I thought I'd wait until you finished."

Arthur glanced at the clock in surprise. "Oh, I didn't realise it was so late. What did you want for dinner?"

Eames shrugged. "Anything you want to make is fine. Are you sure you won't let me make something? I've never have any complaints about my cooking, and I'm sure I can manage."

Arthur hesitated. Even though he'd done very little all day, it would be nice to have someone else do the cooking, and he was intrigued to see how well Eames could cook.

"Alright." He relented, cautiously.

Eames disappeared into the kitchen to inspect which ingredients Arthur had. He began rummaging through the fridge, and Arthur took a moment to appreciate the grey shirt and charcoal trousers that he'd bought earlier. They clearly fit well and the colour suited him, Arthur noted appraisingly.

Eames began pulling out ingredients on to the bench. Chicken, an onion, a green pepper, tomatoes. He checked the cupboards and found Arthur's collection of spices, making a noise of approval in his throat as he began pulling them down. In the next cupboard, he found a bag of rice and that joined the pile of food. Arthur surveyed it appraisingly. It seemed Eames was going to make a chicken curry.

"Shall I dice the vegetables?" Arthur offered. "You can't cut very well with that arm."

Eames glanced at him. "Sure." He shrugged. "I'll start the sauce.

They worked together in silence, never once getting in each other's way. It was almost as if they were using the PASIV, how well they co-ordinated together. The companionable silence was broken when Eames asked Arthur to try the curry and make sure it was to his liking.

Arthur's eyes closed when the flavours exploded on his tongue. No complaints about his cooking? Arthur briefly considered keeping Eames around to cook Christmas lunch. The man was a culinary genius.

As if he knew what Arthur had been thinking, Eames' lips twitched, and asked Arthur if he needed to add anything to the sauce. When Arthur refused, Eames asked him to set the table while he dished up. Arthur poured himself a glass of red, but Eames declined, instead accepting a beer. Over dinner, they discussed what progress Eames had made in eliminating their pursuer. The forger assured Arthur that he'd concocted a plan with another forger named Clint, which involved leading Carlisle's brother out of France, and as soon as he was out of the country, Eames would fly out and strike.

Arthur agreed it was a relatively risk-free plan, and would have no detrimental effects on his holiday plans, so that was fine by him. After dinner, they washed up, before Eames excused himself to sleep. His skin was tight around the eyes, and he winced as he was drying the dishes, so Arthur nodded for him to go, bringing him more painkillers and a glass of water. Eames took them gratefully.

"Why don't you leave me the box, darling?" Eames asked. "It has to be easier than fetching and carrying."

Arthur shook his head. "They're pretty strong pills, from when I was shot on the job before Saito. And, while I trust you, they need to be regulated properly, and if your arm starts to hurt, there's the chance you'll be tempted to take more."

Eames nodded, understanding, and Arthur turned to leave.

"Good night, Arthur."

He paused in the doorway, offering Eames a small smile.

"Good night, Eames."

* * *

**20****th**** December 2012**

**Day Two:**

The next day, Arthur began with much the same routine as the day before. He dropped some painkillers next to Eames' bed, along with a glass of water, before taking a shower, followed up with making breakfast; French toast this time. Eames entered the room, fully dressed in a pair of jeans and a navy shirt.

"How's your arm?" Arthur asked, immediately.

Eames shrugged. "I've had worse. Is this French toast? You're a darling, Arthur."

"So you tell me." Arthur replied, dryly. "What are your plans for today?"

Eames paused. "Well, I need to double check things are all set with Clint, but that's it."

Arthur nodded. "I need to clean your wound again and change the bandage. Are you sure you won't go to a hospital?"

"I can't. I can't guarantee my safety, and if I'm seen in Paris, the whole plan will go to shit and you'll be compromised."

Arthur bit his lip. "Eames, the plan can be damned, along with Christmas, if that wound gets infected. I'm not a doctor, I have no medical training."

"You're doing fine." Eames promised him, and his tone brooked no further argument. Arthur ate his toast quietly. When he'd finished, he brought out the first aid kit. Eames offered his arm, and Arthur gently peeled away the bandage. The flesh wound seemed to be healing nicely. Eames hissed again when Arthur again cleaned the spot where Francis' bullet had grazed his bicep, but aside from that, he didn't flinch as Arthur treated and wrapped the wound.

After the first aid kit was packed away, Arthur washed up, waving Eames away so he didn't get water on his bandage. He gently ushered Eames out of the kitchen, ignoring the feeble protests, insisting that the forger rest his arm. He heard the sound of the TV and set about tidying up the kitchen. When he was finished, he moved into the living room, leaning on the back of his sofa.

"What are you watching?" He asked, curiously.

Eames glanced back. "Love Actually."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You know, it's amazing, but there are times when you manage to completely take me by surprise Mr Eames."

Eames grinned. "And yet, darling, your condescension never comes as a surprise to me."

"Touché." Arthur returned the grin. "Now hand over the remote, I refuse to watch this shit."

Eames grinned, and held up the remote. Arthur took it and vaulted over the back of the sofa, gracefully, channel flicking.

"I hate Christmas television." He groaned, when he'd flicked through a dozen channels without finding anything. He tossed the remote back to Eames, giving it up as a lost cause. "I think I'm going to go for a run. Are you coming?"

Eames looked sorely tempted. "I wish, but I can't in case I'm seen, you know that."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "If you're seen, I'll be seen too, right? So even if you don't come, if Francis' men are around, they'll spot me anyway. And with you around, there'd be two of us to take them down, rather than just me. It would be safer."

Eames looked torn, and, sensing his wavering, Arthur made his final point. "And I'd enjoy your company."

Eames' face lit up. "I'll get changed then, darling."

As he scurried off, Arthur was left like a deer in headlights. He'd seen Eames' smile before. The forger had many different types of smiles. The smirk that played across his face when he pointed out that Arthur was being condescending. The innocent smile when he'd tipped Arthur's chair, an opportunity he never missed. The shy quirk of his lips when they caught each other's eyes after waking up from a dangerous job. Arthur knew and catalogued them all. But this one was new.

The look of complete astonishment and happiness when he realised that Arthur actually _wanted_ his company was so genuine, it almost broke Arthur's heart. He knew that he wasn't the most open person in the world, nor that he and Eames hadn't exactly started off as the best of friends, but surely the forger knew that Arthur actually _liked _him? He moved to his room to change, wondering if perhaps he had been too harsh when he'd grudgingly agreed to let Eames stay. It wasn't that he didn't consider the forger a friend, because he did. It was that Arthur hated to be unprepared for anything, and he hadn't exactly been expecting any visitors. It was that he would never have refused to let Eames stay, and knowing that when he agreed, that there was no way the forger would be gone within a week, so he had to account for having a guest for Christmas.

He shook his head, and pulled on a jacket, reaching for his gloves. Briefly, Arthur toyed with the idea of giving Eames his Christmas present early, but decided against it. Maybe in a few days, but giving him the gloves this soon made it too impersonal.

"Are you ready?" He called, knocking on Eames' door.

"Yeah, do you have a hat I can borrow, darling?"

Arthur frowned, and looked in the hallway for a black beanie he knew was here, but had never worn. Eames came out in full jogging attire, and Arthur handed it to him.

"Thank you, darling. My ears are very susceptible to cold." Eames told him, seriously. The corners of Arthur's mouth twitched, but he held back a smile.

"Come on, let's go." Arthur shoved Eames towards the door and, grabbing his keys and his wallet, followed him out.

They jogged to the park a few blocks away from Arthur's apartment, Eames' hat tugged down low over his ears. Arthur resisted the urge to snatch it from him, knowing the cold was only one of the reasons that Eames had asked for the hat. The risk of getting seen was the other.

An unspoken agreement saw them speed up when they entered the park, gaining speed as they moved away from any families or pedestrians near the entrance. Both of them were healthy, and fit, and had gained a lot of practice running over the years. Even with Eames' injury, he had no trouble with keeping up with Arthur, swinging his arms as if he hadn't been shot. They ran two laps around the entire park before they began to even slow down, and a further lap at jogging speed before they stopped.

"You're fast." Arthur panted. "We should have brought some water."

"Yeah. Let's go grab a coffee or something?" Eames suggested, equally as breathless. At Arthur's agreement, they headed towards the main street. Eames paused, looking in the window. When Arthur stopped, noticing Eames wasn't beside him, the forger moved away to catch up. His curiosity piqued, he moved back to see what Eames had been looking at.

"An ice rink?" Arthur said disbelievingly.

Eames shrugged. "I've never been ice skating. Have you?"

Arthur nodded. "Yeah, I used to do it as a kid. I learnt a few tricks."

Eames smirked, raising his eyebrows. "Really? Now _this_ I have to see."

He took Arthur's arm firmly, and dragged him in the door. Arthur protested, trying to stop Eames from pulling them in, but he didn't struggle too hard, aware of Eames' pain.

"Eames, honestly, it's harder than it looks, and if you haven't done it before you'll never keep your balance, and seriously, you've been _shot_, you could permanently damage your arm…" Arthur babbled.

"Two, please." Eames said firmly to the woman behind the counter, his accent flawless. He listened as she asked for their shoe sizes, and he slipped them off as he replied. Arthur rolled his eyes and removed his sneakers, thanking the woman warmly, and paying for an hour.

"Seriously, Eames?" He hissed when they sat on a bench to pull on their skates. "If you fall you could break your arm."

Eames waved him off. "Then I'll hold on to the side and watch. I couldn't possibly miss an opportunity to watch you fall without being tipped, darling."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Fine, but if you fall, you'll be walking to the emergency room."

He tightened the straps on his skates. "Come on then."

The moved over to the ice, and Arthur skated out easily. Eames stepped out uncertainly, holding on to the sides. Arthur grinned over at him as he did a figure eight.

"Show off!" Eames called, grinning back. Arthur shrugged, looking pleased with himself.

"Come out to the middle." He beckoned Eames over, who shook his head quickly, gripping the rail as his feet skidded.

"You must be bloody joking." He said, struggling to retain his balance. "I'm alright here."

"I insist."

Eames laughed, shakily. "I decline."

Arthur skated over to him, smiling. "You can hold on to my hand if you like." When Eames showed no sign of relenting, he smirked. "If you come over now, I promise not to tell Yusuf that you're a chicken."

Eames narrowed his eyes, smirking in return. "Well, if that's how you want to play it, I promise not to tell the Cobblets that Uncle Arthur couldn't keep up with me."

Arthur brow furrowed, and his mouth opened in confusion, staying open as Eames let go of the bar and skated away. It was obvious that he'd been feigning his fear and that he'd had significantly more practice than Arthur on ice. After he'd recovered from the initial surprise, Arthur smiled fondly, and skated after the forger. He caught up easily.

"You're full of surprises, today." He told Eames, who smiled, pleased.

"Your condescension, as always, is much appreciated darling." He replied back, skating faster. Arthur caught up with him, and Eames offered his hand. Arthur took it, with his own gloved one, and they spun around, laughing.

All too soon, their time was called, and they left the rink. Arthur returned their skates and handed Eames his trainers. When they left the rink, Arthur suggested they go for lunch, and took them to a bistro not far from his apartment. Eames chose a ham and cheese sandwich and a tea, and Arthur a turkey sandwich and an Americano.

Eames took a sip of his tea and sighed, happily.

"Good?" Arthur asked, taking a sip of his coffee

Eames cocked an eyebrow. "It's French; of course it's not good. They should stick to coffee. Tea is a _British_ thing, and nowhere ever does it justice. But I can't remember the last time I actually had a cup of tea, so even this swill is heavenly."

Arthur laughed, and Eames stared at him.

"What?" The point man asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Do I have something on my face?"

Eames shook his head. "No, darling, it's just … did you know you have dimples?"

Arthur laughed again and took a bite of his sandwich. Eames looked at in in disgust.

"Seriously, this close to Christmas, and you're getting turkey? You'll be sick of the stuff by Boxing Day. I usually find that I can only eat it at Christmas, because the amount of it my mum used to have left over, it put me off for the rest of the year."

Arthur was curious. He didn't know anything about Eames' family life or childhood; it was a subject that was taboo. Even when he'd researched the forger for their first job, he only went as far as his introduction to Project Somnacin.

"Do you usually spend Christmas with your family?" He asked, curiously.

Eames pulled a face. "I used to, but I've made an excuse not to for the last three years. It's… this business tends to take things out of you, you know? For the last few years, Christmas has just been like another day."

Arthur was surprised. Eames was the last person he expected to lose holiday cheer. Hesitantly, he spoke up.

"If it makes you uncomfortable, I don't have to decorate the apartment."

Eames' head snapped up from his tea. "Don't be silly, Arthur! For a start, it's _your_ apartment, and it's not decorations or trees that make me uncomfortable. It's family that start asking questions about why you haven't met a nice girl to marry yet, or what it is you actually do that keep you away for three hundred and sixty four days a year." He shook his head.

Arthur took a sip of his coffee, his hand surprisingly steady as he asked. "So why haven't you met a nice girl to marry yet?"

Eames looked at him in disbelief, and Arthur snorted into his cup. The forger seemed to realise that Arthur was joking, and pursed his lips.

"Darling, you know as well as I do that should I take _anyone_ home to meet my mother, it would be the complete opposite of a nice girl."

Arthur grinned. "I know. I just wanted to make you uncomfortable."

"What about your parents?" Eames asked. "Do you go home for Christmas?"

Arthur drained his cup. "They died when I was in the army, shortly before I volunteered for Project Somnacin. When I left the army, I met Dom and Mal, and spent every Christmas with them. This is the first Christmas where I was going to be alone, but, now you're here, I'm actually glad of the company."

Eames smiled, sadly. Arthur gestured for them to leave, and they walked back to the apartment in silence.

Once inside, Eames switched on the TV, channel flicking. He found Die Hard one on of the movie channels and nodded to himself, approvingly. Arthur glanced at the screen and took a seat at the far end of the sofa, curling his feet up underneath him.

"Have you seen this before?" Eames asked him.

"Of course." Arthur frowned. "Who hasn't?"

"It's my favourite Christmas movie." Eames told him. Arthur groaned.

"Just because it's set during Christmas, doesn't mean it's a Christmas movie." He sighed. "It has no mention of Christmas spirit, and to be honest, it has nothing to do with the plot. It could be set during fucking Easter, and the storyline wouldn't change."

Eames gaped at him. "Just… no, Arthur. Die Hard is the epitome of Christmas movies. For a start, how many people watch it near Christmas? And whether it's non-essential or not, you can't deny that it _is_ set during the Christmas period."

"The presence of Christmas spirit is what defines a Christmas movie." Arthur snapped, furiously. "And Die Hard doesn't qualify."

Eames blinked. "I'm sensing you've had this argument before?"

Arthur paused, and a small, sheepish grin spread across his face, mirroring Eames'. In a few seconds, they were howling, not paying any attention to the movie that had sparked off their laughter.

"I'm sorry." Arthur gasped, wiping his eyes. "It's just something that's always annoyed me. It's the same with Gremlins."

"Gizmo caca." Eames snarled in an uncanny impression of Stripe, and they were off laughing again, only stopping when Eames' phone vibrated against the coffee table. He glanced at it in surprise as Arthur frowned, realising that Eames had held on to his phone when he should have binned it in Calais.

"It's Clint." He said sharply. "I have to take this. Hello?"

Arthur waited patiently as Eames sighed, groaned, snapped and growled his way through the phone call, his eyes on the screen but listening to every word.

"Fine, I'll call you back in an hour." He sighed, and hung up.

Arthur's eyes met Eames'. He didn't even try to pretend that he hadn't been listening. They both knew Arthur, and that he would have caught every syllable.

"Problem?" He asked mildly.

"Not exactly." Eames replied. "Francis isn't taking the bait; I think he knows that it's a decoy. Clint thinks that he'll send one of his men to check out the lead, but he'll stay in Calais. If I go to him, he'll be prepared. I need to make him leave his comfort zone and to do that, I'm going to have to be seen elsewhere."

"You're leaving." It wasn't a question.

Eames nodded. "I was thinking possibly Portugal. If I fly to Lisbon, there's an old contact there who wouldn't think twice about selling me out to Francis. Then, I fly back here, or to London if that's not convenient for you, wait until he realises that his contact has got his information wrong, then surprise him. If he thinks I'm around, he'll be on his guard."

Arthur nodded. "It's a good plan, but you're going to need to be delicate with your proof. Who's the contact?"

Eames grinned. "Nash."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "You know Francis will kill him, once he realises that Nash has given him the wrong information?"

Eames nodded. "I don't think I'll lose any sleep over it, will you? He's been living on borrowed time anyway; Cobol would have caught up with him sooner or later. And you're forgetting, he's going to sell Francis my whereabouts. If, by some miracle Francis doesn't kill him, I will."

Arthur nodded, thoughtfully. He would do exactly the same in Eames' position. "And your proof?"

"I'll drop by and visit Nash, under the pretext of a job, then Clint can use my card to book a hotel. It should be enough to draw Francis in. I think it might work."

Arthur scowled. "We're gonna have to do a little better than might."

Eames grinned. "Darling, sometimes you can be so predictable. I'm going to have to pack. I need to leave tomorrow." He hesitated, and Arthur knew what he was going to ask.

"When you're done with Nash, come back here." He ordered. "If you don't want me involved in this, that's fine, but I'll be damned if I sit here clueless."

Eames' expression softened, and he looked at Arthur fondly. "You're a good friend, Arthur. Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet." Arthur said quietly. "You can come back and thank me once that asshole is dead."

Eames understood that Arthur was telling him to come back unhurt. "I intend to."

He disappeared to arrange his flight with Clint, and Arthur tried to concentrate on the TV, but his thoughts were scrambled and his emotions were overloading. It could have been Yusuf, or Dom, or somebody Arthur had only worked with once, and he would have felt more or less the same. Arthur didn't want Eames to get hurt, and not for the first time he regretted allowing Eames to deal with this alone.

* * *

**21****st**** December 2012**

**Day Three:**

The next morning was a break from their usual routine. Arthur had pointed out that if Eames turned up looking well-rested, Nash would realise that Eames had a place to stay, which meant he had an accomplice. When Eames had recognised Arthur's logic, he had comprehended that Francis would immediately assume that it was Arthur, and their plan would be useless, because he would see it as opportunity to catch them both.

So it was decided that Eames needed to look a little ragged. Arthur had suggested they stay up all night and have a few drinks, so when Eames had to fly to Lisbon, he would look slightly unkempt. He hadn't shaved since he'd arrived at Arthur's apartment anyway, and he could wear the clothes he'd arrived in, to make it look like he'd been sleeping rough.

Arthur had retrieved a bottle of whisky, and poured Eames a generous sized glass. He'd had a few glasses of his own along with Eames, but had stopped when he began to feel a little light-headed. Eames carried on, until his eyes were bloodshot, and Arthur took the glass. They stayed up all night, just talking, about their backgrounds, their families, the reason they worked in dreamsharing. Arthur found himself confessing his plans to retire.

Eames' face fell slightly. "The business won't be the same without you, darling. I've never met a more thorough point man." He slurred.

Arthur smiled. "You don't have plans to retire any time soon then?"

Eames smiled, enigmatically, although the effect was diminished somewhat, by his obvious inebriation. "Not me, darling. I'll die long before I'd ever consider retiring."

Arthur paused. "You don't want to find a partner and settle down?"

Something darkened behind Eames' eyes and he forced a smile. "Darling, it's not likely to ever happen, so why retire and be alone when I can make friends in dreamsharing?" He reasoned. "Is that why you want to retire?"

Arthur nodded. "Yeah. Since I left the army, I've had Dom, but now he's got his kids and while I'm sure I'd be welcomed, I'm a reminder of dreamsharing, and a reminder of Mal. For the first time, I'm alone." He swallowed. "I'm all for solitude, but nobody wants to spend the rest of their life alone. It's either the job, or a future."

"Couldn't you have both?" Eames asked quietly.

Arthur frowned in confusion. "How could I?"

Eames shook his head slowly, and refused to elaborate. Arthur didn't press the issue, but he was left befuddled by Eames' words.

Somewhere in the apartment, Eames' phone buzzed and the forger jumped to his feet unsteadily, heading in search of it. Arthur stood himself, and moved to the balcony. It was almost half past eight, and the sun was just starting to come up. He leant against the rail, enjoying the crisp sharpness of the cold winter air, stinging his cheeks. It made him think of home. He sensed rather than heard Eames step out behind him.

"I like the sun." Arthur said quietly. Taking his words as an invitation, Eames moved beside him, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

"I like the way a new day starts, and it washes away all the darkness. I like the winter sun, because the days are shorter, so we appreciate what little light we have."

Eames looked at him. "Not all of the darkness. We all have shadows, but the sun shows us where they are, and can so easily wash them away."

Arthur nodded, slowly. "You'll stay safe in Lisbon." It wasn't a request, but more of a statement.

Eames smiled slightly. "I always do, darling."

"You trust Clint? With your life?" Arthur pressed.

Eames looked at him, calculating, intensely. "I trust him with _yours_." He murmured. "That should tell you everything."

He moved his eyes back to the sunrise, and didn't speak. Arthur understood the cryptic message, and knew that there would be nobody more trustworthy than Clint. Eventually, Eames disappeared back into the flat. Arthur waited a few minutes, silently, before following him. Eames had changed back into his blood-stained shirt and the trousers he'd worn when he'd arrived at Arthur's flat. Arthur was surprised to find that it was only two days ago. Time seemed to have ticked slowly since he'd arrived home. He almost regretted that when the vacation was up, he would have to leave. It hadn't seemed like a holiday, more like his own private bubble, almost like a – shit.

He scrambled for his totem and rolled it across the coffee table. _Six. Six. Six._

Arthur sighed with relief and pocketed the die. Reality. A sound behind him caused Arthur to spin round, reaching for his gun. When he saw it was Eames, he let the Glock slide back into his waistline.

"I get like that sometimes." Eames admitted quietly. "Between jobs, things seem to go so slowly. I was so certain I was dreaming once, I nearly shot myself without checking. Luckily, my training kicked in, and I checked my totem before I made any rash decisions."

Arthur's mouth opened and closed again. There was nothing he could say in response to that.

"What time do you need me to take you to the airport?" He said, instead.

Eames shook his head, firmly. "I'm taking a taxi. It's outside now. I need you to promise me that while I'm gone, you won't leave the flat. I don't want to take any chances. Do you understand me, Arthur?"

"Alright." Arthur promised, quietly. "I promise."

"I'm coming back here?" Eames confirmed.

Arthur smiled. "If you don't, I'm coming to get you." He vowed. Eames smiled and reached his hand out to stroke Arthur's cheek, fondly.

"I wouldn't expect anything less. I'll see you tonight."

Before Arthur could say another word, Eames pressed a chaste kiss to his lips and swept out of the door, leaving the point man standing by the sofa, wondering what the hell had just happened.

* * *

Seven hours later, when Arthur's pacing threatened to wear a hole in his carpet, his phone rang. He snatched it up immediately, answering it.

"Eames?"

"It's me, darling." Eames sounded exhausted.

"What happened?" Arthur demanded. "Did everything go to plan?"

Eames laughed, scornfully. "Not exactly. It turns out, Nash has been looking for us ever since he found out there was a price on our heads. Fucking little weasel pulled a gun on me."

"That fucking piece of shit, I'm going to fucking kneecap him." Arthur snapped, raging. "Where's the fuck is my gun? I'm going to fly out and shoot the bastard."

Eames laughed. "Darling, your gun is tucked into the back of your pants, where it always is, and you're not going anywhere. Besides, I took care of it."

Arthur paused. "He's dead?"

Eames confirmed his assumption. "Yes. I used his phone to call Francis; did you know he had him on speed dial? He must've really hated your guts, darling. But I ensured Francis heard my voice and Nash's before I disposed of him. It shouldn't take him more than a day to track Nash's last known location."

Arthur sighed. "Good. Where are you now?"

"Just about to head through security. I'll see you back at the apartment by about seven. Want me to pick up some food on the way?"

"Sure. Anything you want is fine. See you in a few hours."

Arthur sighed with relief as he hung up the phone, the tension draining from his shoulders, and his fear easing. Everything had gone to plan, more or less. He felt no regret at Nash's death. It was solely because he'd been hired for the inception that he hadn't hunted down the traitor himself for selling them out to Saito in the first place.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. Eames wouldn't be back for a few hours, but Arthur knew he wouldn't be able to sleep until the forger was back in the apartment. He glanced around his living room. It was only a few days to Christmas, and he hadn't prepared anything. He didn't have a tree, but it wouldn't be too much of a hardship to go and buy one the next day. He did have some decorations lying around somewhere, though, Arthur was sure of it. He checked the cupboard, and spotted the box immediately. He pulled it out, glancing through. He had tinsel, a wreath, garlands, mistletoe and lights, as well as some baubles, and a star for the top of the tree. Pushing the tree decorations to one side, as well as the mistletoe, Arthur set about decorating his apartment. He was just hanging the final garland over the fireplace, when there was a knock at the door. Arthur hopped down from the chair, drawing his gun.

"Who is it?" He called, his gun raised.

"Father buggering Christmas, darling, will you open the bloody door? It's freezing." Eames' voice, muffled by the door, came floating through. Arthur stowed away his Glock and wrenched open the door, standing aside to let Eames in.

"It's bloody cold out there." Eames swore, rubbing his hands together to generate some heat. Arthur moved to light the fire so Eames could warm up.

"Much appreciated, darling." Eames told him. He glanced around. "I like the decorations."

"Thanks." Arthur grinned. "Did you bring food?"

Eames nodded, and gestured to the bags on the table. "Thai place on the corner. I got your usual."

Arthur nodded, and began unpacking the food, dishing it on to plates. "How's your arm?" He called.

Eames appeared in the doorway. "It doesn't hurt anymore. I landed on it when I dived out of the way of Nash's bullet, but it didn't do any damage."

Arthur gritted his teeth, angrily, wishing Nash were alive so he could shoot the bastard himself. Eames seemed to know what Arthur was thinking and grinned, spearing a piece of Arthur's chicken with a fork.

Arthur glared at him. "I've shot people for less." He pointed out.

Eames grinned and sat down at the table, putting his feet up. "Darling, you wouldn't shoot me, you like me too much."

Arthur just turned back to dishing out the Thai, a smile playing on his lips. "I do." He agreed.

When Arthur confirmed it, Eames allowed a similar, genuine smile to spread across his face.

"Thank you, darling." He said warmly. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

Arthur bit back a smile. "Don't thank me yet, Mr Eames. I can retract it." He said haughtily. Eames just grinned, and silence fell as Arthur threw the empty cartons in the trash.

"You need a tree." Eames stated, out of nowhere.

"I know." Arthur turned, and put Eames' plate down in front of him. "I'll get one tomorrow. You coming?"

Eames nodded, eagerly. "Yeah, it'll probably need two of us to carry it. We should go ice skating again too."

Arthur smiled at the forger's enthusiasm as he sat down opposite him; considering Eames wasn't a big fan of Christmas. Arthur too, had initially only decided to celebrate Christmas because it was tradition, but he found himself oddly looking forward to the holiday this year, especially if Eames was still around on Christmas Day.

"Will you still be here?" Arthur asked, suddenly. When Eames looked confused, Arthur clarified. "On Christmas Day. Will you be here?"

"Ahh. Specificity, darling." Eames joked, before considering the question. "I'd like to be, but if I'm imposing, I can leave."

Arthur smiled. "Having you around isn't as much of an imposition as I initially thought." He admitted. "I'm glad of your company, and it's fun getting to know you properly, like this. All the time we've known each other, worked together, and there's so much about each other we don't know."

Eames smiled and took a sip of his water. "I agree. I've wanted to get to know you ever since I first saw you. You were such a puzzle, I wanted to figure you out."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "And have you?"

"Give me time, darling. The pyramids weren't built in a day." Eames grinned. "Although I suspect that an eternity studying you still wouldn't be enough time."

"Likewise." Arthur raised his glass at Eames and drained his glass. "I'm exhausted. I think I'm going to head to bed. I'll see you in the morning?"

Eames nodded, rising from the table. "Me too."

He carried the dishes over to the sink and rinsed them. As Eames spoke, Arthur remembered the kiss that Eames had pressed to his lips earlier, and wondered, not for the first time, what it had meant. The forger hadn't brought it up, so Arthur assumed that he'd forgotten and it had meant nothing, or he was purposely avoiding discussing it. Or there was the possibility that Eames was waiting for him to bring it up. Nah, that wasn't likely. Eames wasn't the type to sit back and wait. He just decided to pass it off as a fleeting moment of fear, and Eames had needed Arthur to ground him. It seemed like something the forger would do.

"Arthur? I said good night." Eames' voice broke through his thoughts.

"What? Shit, sorry, I think I was falling asleep. Goodnight, Eames." Arthur said softly, disappearing quickly into his room. He shut the door, and sighed, before undressing and slipping into bed.

* * *

**22****nd**** December 2012**

**Day Four:**

The following morning brought a change to their usual routine. Having gone thirty six hours without sleep, both Arthur and Eames neglected to set an alarm, figuring they deserved a little extra sleep, Eames more so than Arthur. So whoever Arthur eventually rolled out of bed at ten am, he was surprised to find that Eames was in his kitchen, cooking breakfast in just a pair of jeans. Arthur was once again greeted by the sight of Eames' bare torso and back, the swirls of ink the first thing to draw his attention.

"Oh, you're awake, darling?" He said airily. "I was going to bring you breakfast in bed, as a sort of thank you for putting up with me."

Arthur raised an eyebrow and sat down at the table, choosing not to comment. He watched Eames cook appreciatively, remembering the curry the forger had made a few days before. When Eames slid a plate in front of him, Arthur glanced down eagerly to see what Eames had made.

"A bacon and mushroom omelette, with cheese." He told Arthur, who had cut into it before Eames had finished speaking. As soon as the omelette reached his mouth, Arthur could smell the assortment of ingredients, and his eyes fluttered shut. The crispness of the bacon, along with the light, fluffy texture of the omelette hit his tongue, and he bit back a moan. He swallowed and glanced at Eames, who was hovering nervously, hoping Arthur liked it.

"On our next job, you can do the cooking. You subjected me to Ariadne's pitiful attempts at _toast _when I could have been eating _this_? Why the hell did you order takeaway when it was your turn to cook?"

Eames smiled. "I don't cook for just anyone, pet."

"So I'm special?" Arthur grinned, taking another bite.

Eames looked at him, seriously. "Always, Arthur." He stood up to refill his coffee and poured Arthur a cup.

Arthur's mouth opened in surprise. Eames was always a joker, but somehow even Arthur didn't doubt his sincerity. He tried to think of something to say in reply, something that conveyed to Eames that he too was special, that he was one of Arthur's only friends, possibly his only friend now Dom had retired.

"We need to pick a tree today." He stated, instead. "Do you want to help me decorate it?"

Eames smiled. "Sounds good. We heading out once you've finished eating?"

When Arthur agreed, Eames took a sip of his coffee and pulled a face. Arthur made a mental note to pick up some English tea while they were out. If Eames was going to be staying with him anyway, there was no reason he couldn't be accommodating and make Eames' stay as comfortable as possible, particularly since the forger was taking care of an ex-mark that was trying to kill them.

Eames excused himself to throw on a t-shirt, and Arthur set about showering and dressing for the day, wearing a pair of tight, dark jeans and a white button down, and combed his hair back, as always. When they were ready to go, Arthur picked up his car keys.

"We're driving?" Eames asked, surprised.

"_I'm _driving." Arthur corrected. "You're the passenger. The only place I know that sells real Christmas trees isn't within walking distance. And how do you suppose we get it home? Carry it between us I suppose?"

Eames just grinned at him, fondly. Arthur rolled his eyes, exasperatedly, and headed to the car, Eames following him. They drove in silence, until Eames switched the radio on, exclaiming in delight when he heard the opening notes of Fairytale Of New York. Arthur hid a smile as Eames began singing along, but soon found himself singing too. In ordinary company, Arthur would never have dared to relax and let himself behave so freely, but there was something invigorating about Eames that just made him feel completely at ease.

By the time Arthur pulled up at the Christmas tree farm, they'd gotten through Last Christmas and Do They Know It's Christmas, and were in excellent spirits. Arthur parked his black Audi smoothly and hopped out, Eames following. The owner approached them, smiling.

"Bonjour. How can I help you?"

"My friend is looking for a Christmas tree for his apartment, do you have any available?" Eames replied, his French flawless.

The owner, who introduced himself as Luc, laughed. "But of course! Everything you see is for purchase. Please, feel free to look around, and let me know when you find one."

"Merci." Arthur thanked him, warmly, and he gestured for Eames to lead the way. "What about this one?" He pointed at the first one.

"Too tall for your apartment, darling." Eames objected. "And that one's too limp." He added, when Arthur looked at the next tree.

Arthur sensed it was going to be a long trip, until he picked the right tree. He circled around, looking at them all. "What about this one?"

"Too…green." Eames mumbled. Arthur stopped and stared at him.

"It's a Christmas tree! How can it be _too green_?" He sighed, exasperatedly. "Fine, I give up, which one do you think we should get?"

Eames pointed behind him and Arthur looked around. It was a nice tree, decently shaped and sturdy. It was a little taller than Arthur, which meant it was sure to fit in the apartment. He could just see it, sitting in the corner, beside the fire.

"We'll take this one." He called, waving to Luc and pointing at the tree.

"An excellent choice, messieurs! " Luc exclaimed. "If you pay my wife, Mallorie, she's sitting over by the gate, I shall have the tree at your car in one moment."

Both Arthur and Eames flinched at the name, but Eames recovered first, thanking Luc warmly for his help. As Arthur took care of the payment, Eames helped Luc carry the tree over to Arthur's Audi, and strapped it to the top. On the way home, they chatted awkwardly, neither of them mentioning the discomfort they'd felt at hearing Mal's name sprung on them, even though they both knew it was foolish.

By the time they'd arrived at Arthur's apartment, their conversation had lost most of its awkwardness, and they were working out the best way to carry the tree inside. Eventually, they agreed that Eames would carry it alone, and Arthur would dash ahead to clear some space for it. When Eames had managed to set the three in the stand, Arthur left him to it, retrieving a handheld vacuum and clearing the pine needles from both the living room carpet and the hallway, so the other residents in the building wouldn't complain.

Heading back into the apartment block, Arthur noticed Eames was staring into the box of decorations.

"Darling! You have mistletoe!" Eames exclaimed, gleefully, snatching some out of the box and hanging it in the kitchen doorway.

Arthur decided it would be futile to complain, and let Eames hang the mistletoe without complain, but catalogued where it hung, to ensure he wouldn't get caught under it. After that, he helped Eames decorate the tree, with baubles and tinsel and lights. He even let Eames stand on the furniture in order to place the star in its pride of place, on top of the tree.

When the final touches had been added, they stood back to admire their handiwork. Eames nodded, pleased, and Arthur decided that later that evening, when they lit the fire and the room looked homely, he would place Eames' present under the tree.

"I'm going to head out to the supermarket. You coming?" He asked, remembering that he needed to get the groceries for the Christmas lunch. Eames' presence had thrown him off kilter and he was behind in everything that he would usually have finished by now.

Eames shook his head. "I didn't get much sleep last night and I'm exhausted, darling. I'd prefer to stay here and watch TV, if you don't mind. Of course, if you need a hand, I'll come." He added hastily.

Arthur smiled, wondering how he could ever have thought Eames was insufferable, or anything other than adorable. He went the extra mile for his friends, or at least people he considered to be trustworthy, and while he did go out of his way to tease Arthur incessantly, it was hard to miss the affection in said jibes.

"It's fine, I'm sure I'll manage. I'm going to pick up things for Christmas lunch. Is there anything in particular you want?"

Eames thought about it. "Something with chocolate for dessert, if that's not too much trouble. I can't bear Christmas pudding, it's bloody awful."

Arthur agreed. "I'll look for something. Anything else?"

Eames shook his head. "Whatever you usually do is fine by me, darling."

"I'll be back soon then."

At the supermarket, Arthur found himself perusing each aisle thoroughly. He'd found a fairly decent sized turkey, one that would feed both of them without leaving lots of leftovers. Arthur wondered what a British Christmas lunch involved. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and pulled up a search engine. It was intriguing, to say the least. They had an odd version of pigs in blankets, which involved sausage, wrapped in bacon. Arthur shrugged, and dropped some bacon in his basket. You could never have too much bacon. He found stuffing, cranberry sauce, gravy, and hesitated when he got to the Brussels sprouts. Personally, he hated them, but he wasn't sure if Eames would want them. He decided against it. The smell was abhorrent.

When he arrived at the alcohol, Arthur found a bottle of expensive red wine that he drank on special occasions, and got a pack of beer of Eames. For dessert, he picked up a chocolate yule log, thinking it was at least festive. When he'd finished, and dropped his purchases in the car, Arthur moved down the street to another shore, to get Eames another Christmas present. When he got back to the flat, Eames jumped up from the sofa to help Arthur carry the bags inside. He marvelled as he unpacked each bag, grinning when he saw the Yule log, and the bacon.

"An English Christmas, darling?" He queried lightly.

Arthur shrugged. "Thought it would be a change. Feel free to come around next year, and we'll have an American one." He offered, lightly.

Eames' head snapped round at Arthur's words. "I might take you up on that." He replied, his tone equally as light. He carried on unpacking the bags, pausing when he pulled out the English teabags Arthur had found in the supermarket.

"Darling," He breathed, his eyes shining. "Darling, I could kiss you."

"You could." Arthur agreed. "But are you willing to risk your tea? Because I'll throw the box over the balcony if you attempt any such thing."

Eames stared at him. "Did you just make a joke?" He asked, disbelievingly. He reached for his poker chip and flipped it. "Reality? I think I need a cup of tea." He pretended to swoon.

Arthur pursed his lips. "It's been known to happen." He sniffed, haughtily. "I'm not entirely without a sense of humour, you know."

Eames grinned. "Hidden deep underneath your Armani suits and prickly exterior?"

Arthur huffed and threw the turkey at Eames' head, who caught it deftly, laughing.

"Darling, I hope you realises this means I'm cooking Christmas lunch?" He warned, seriously. "There is no way I'm letting your snobby American-self desecrate a proper British Christmas lunch."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Eames. Just don't burn my apartment down, and we'll be fine."

After they'd stored everything away, they cracked open a beer and took a seat in front of the TV. Arthur clutched the gift in his pocket, tightly, wondering if perhaps he should give it to Eames now, so it didn't feel like too much like a big deal. He kept sneaking glances at Eames, who was laughing at In Bruges. Arthur hated the film with a passion, but he hadn't had the heart to ask Eames to change the channel. He tried to look like he was watching the film, but he kept looking at Eames as he palmed the gift in his pocket.

"Do I have something on my face?" Eames asked, eventually, amused.

Arthur froze. "What?"

"You keep looking at me, darling. Do I have something on my face?" Eames clarified.

"No. I was just wondering how the hell you can be enjoying this film. It's the worst thing I've ever seen." Arthur replied. It was a half-truth.

Eames gaped. "You're not enjoying it? The end is hilarious, he…"

"Shoots the dwarf." Arthur finished. "I've seen it. Listen, Eames, I… got you something."

At the forger's look of surprised, he hurried to clarify. "Well, it's not exactly a gift, I mean, it is a gift, but it's not a Christmas gift. I do have a Christmas gift for you, but I have something else too."

Eames leaned over a pressed a finger to Arthur's lips, effectively silencing him. "Darling, calm down." He soothed. "I have a Christmas present for you too; I picked it up in Lisbon."

"You do?" Arthur asked, surprised.

Eames smiled, gently. "Of course. So what did you want to give me?"

"It's nothing big." Arthur mumbled, flushing. "It's just… here."

He pulled out a small silver key and handed it to Eames, who looked at it enquiringly.

"It's a key to this apartment; I had it cut this afternoon. If you ever need somewhere to go and it's easier for you to get here, it will save you having to break in."

Eames took Arthur's hand and squeezed it affectionately. "Thank you." He said, sincerely. "I know how much security means to you, and to share your apartment willingly… it's a big deal."

"Don't thank me yet." Arthur laughed, embarrassed. "Thank me when it saves your life."

Eames inclined his head, acknowledging Arthur's words silently. Arthur took advantage of Eames' momentary distraction and stole the TV remote, switching from In Bruges to Gremlins.

"Much better." He grinned, and Eames just laughed, before taking a sip of his drink and shoving Arthur playfully. Arthur shoved back, and Eames spilt the beer down his shirt. Arthur snorted with laughter, covering his mouth in a faux-apology. Eames stood and, crossing his arms, pulled his t-shirt over his head, and throwing it at Arthur, hitting him square in the face.

"Gross." Arthur muttered, tossing the t-shirt behind him and grinning at Eames, who settled back down beside him on the sofa, to watch the rest of the movie.

Later that night, when he'd gone to bed, Arthur wondered when exactly he'd begun to find Eames attractive, and when he'd started to consider watching a movie with the shirtless forger normal.

* * *

**23****rd**** December 2012**

**Day Five:**

The next day, breakfast was completely forgotten. When Arthur was awake and freshly showered, he emerged from his bathroom to find Eames arguing into his phone. He headed past him into the kitchen to make coffee, and he had a sneaky suspicion that Eames would require a cup of tea when he hung up, from the way he'd been tugging at his hair angrily. Arthur boiled the kettle and made himself a cup of coffee. He'd observed many times over the years how Eames liked his tea, so when the irritated forger stomped into the kitchen, there was a cup of tea waiting for him.

"Darling, I think I love you." Eames groaned as he brought the cup to his lips and drank deeply. Arthur flushed, pleased, following the motion with his eyes.

"Problems?" He replied gruffly, clearing his throat.

Eames shook his head. "Nothing to worry about. Clint is just concerned because Francis doesn't seem to be taking the bait. He's still in Calais."

Arthur took a sip of his coffee, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "Perhaps he's wise to the plan. If it were me, I would assume that you'd skipped out by now." He paused. "Does Francis know that Clint is working with you?"

"No." Eames said, without hesitation. "There's no way Clint could ever be linked to me. Why? What were you thinking?"

"Tell him to fly to Lisbon and use your card to buy something subtle. A cheap hotel room, maybe. If he's any good, he'll have checked out any security camera footage of your visit to Nash and saw that you looked rough. He'll assume you're desperate enough to risk using your card. Then when he gets there, he'll see you're not there and prepare to leave again. That's when you fly out and strike."

Eames nodded, recognising that the plan was more or less flawless. "I should have just came to you from the beginning, darling. You've got it all figured out."

"You just need to look at it from every angle." Arthur told him. "It's just viewing things logically."

Eames smiled. "Why would I learn to do that when I have you to do it for me, darling?"

Arthur eyed him, amused. "And I suppose I'll always be around to do your planning for you?"

"If I can help it, darling, you will be. I'll make sure of it." Eames told him, and Arthur knew with every fibre of his being that Eames was only half-joking. Before Arthur could reply, Eames had changed the subject, with a casual air that didn't fool Arthur remotely.

"So what are we doing today?" Eames asked, draining his cup. "Did you have any plans, because I can make myself scarce if you need me to?"

Arthur shook his head. "No plans. It's snowing out, and by the looks of it, has been all night. I don't want to risk the car getting stuck."

Eames glanced out the window in surprise. "So it is. It looks pretty deep."

Arthur agreed. "It's pretty good for training to run in the snow. We could go back to the park."

"Sounds good. I'll find my running shoes."

They jogged around to the park, finding it more or less deserted, an unsurprising discovery, considering the snow was coming down heavier. Half way around the first lap of the park, Arthur and Eames realised that it would be futile to keep going, the snow was deeper than they had anticipated, slowing them down considerably, and soaking them to their knees. They slowed down, trudging through the snow.

"Fucking hell, that's deeper than I thought." Arthur panted, leaning over to catch his breath. "There's no way we can carry on in this. Shall we head back?"

"My shoelace has come undone. Go on ahead." Eames waved him away and knelt to tie his lace. Arthur walked on ahead, slowly, waiting for Eames to catch up. He stopped dead, as something cold, hard and wet hit him in the back of the head, sending icy water down his neck. He gasped, and spun round accusingly, to find Eames tying his lace, grinning up at him innocently. Arthur's eyes narrowed, not remotely fooled. He lowered himself into a crouch, scooping up the snow in his gloved hand.

Eames stood slowly, back away. "Now, Arthur, darling, be reasonable. It was only a joke."

Arthur straightened up, compressing the snow into a ball with ease. His wrist flexed and the snowball met its target, hitting Eames square in the face. The forger spluttered, wiping his face with his sleeve, as Arthur grinned at the sight.

Eames smirked. "You asked for it, darling." He saw Arthur's hand twitch and his military training kicked in, throwing himself behind a bench just as a snowball whizzed through where he'd just been started. He made a small pile of snowballs to use as ammunition and risked a peek over the top of the bench. He ducked immediately as the white powder slammed into the bench.

"No fair, darling." Eames called, before he threw his own snowball. He heard Arthur gasp and knew that he'd hit the point man. He mentally cheered and worked on increasing his ammo. A snowball in hand, he hesitantly peeked over the top of the bench to find that Arthur was nowhere in sight. He rose slightly, hesitantly, ready to duck again. When he was fully upright, there was still no sign of the point man. Eames looked around, his eyes darting to every possible hiding place. A man and his daughter walked past, and the little girl grinned at Eames and said something in French. Eames caught the end of the sentence and froze.

"…dans l'arbre." She giggled. _In the tree_! Eames slowly looked up, filled with dread, and was hit by four consecutive snowballs to the chest. He staggered back, gasping as the cold snow caused a damp patch to spread over his thin t-shirt. He dropped to the floor as another two snowballs sailed over his head. Arthur's feet appeared and he swung himself down from a branch, landing in front of the bench. Eames was ready, and threw his own snowballs, hitting Arthur repeatedly in the face and torso. The point man wheezed as he tried to catch his breath.

Eames took advantage of Arthur's momentary paralysis and threw himself forward, running full pelt in the snow towards the point man, taking him to the floor. Arthur, though taken by surprise, didn't take long to recover and rolled them over, grasping a handful of snow to rub in his attacker's face, but the forger had the most superior strength, and rolled again pinning Arthur down. He grinned, and Arthur grinned up at him.

Eames was struck, not for the first time, by how handsome Arthur was. This was the first time he'd seen the point man so alive, his eyes shining with happiness and fun, his cheeks flushing with both pleasure and the cold, and his dark hair falling into his eyes. Eames gripped Arthur's waist tightly, terrified to move and end the moment between them, but unwilling to take the next step and kiss him. He'd brushed their lips together only once before and it had been in the heat of the moment. The next time they kissed, he wanted it to be because Arthur returned the feelings that Eames had harboured for so long.

Arthur felt his breath hitch as he looked up at Eames, from the snow in his hair, to his lips quirked up in a smile, to his eyes, which stared at Arthur intensely, like he was the most precious thing in the world. Slowly, hesitantly, Arthur reached up to brush snow from Eames' cheek, and watched the forger's eyes flutter shut at the contact. Struck by a sudden wave of affection, Arthur breathed the forger's name quietly, knowing Eames would catch it. Eames' eyes flickered to Arthur's lips and back up to his eyes, silently asking for permission. Arthur knew that Eames wouldn't move until Arthur consented or refused. His mind raced. He wanted this. In that moment, all he wanted was to feel Eames' lips pressed against his own. But there was more to consider. If they took this step, there was no going back. And Arthur didn't know for certain that they were both on the same page. He didn't even know which page he was on.

His eyes flickered to Eames' lips and he knew he would never be able to push Eames away. His eyes fluttered shut, and he started to close the gap between them. A bark interrupted them, and Eames' weight disappeared from on top of the point man, whose eyes flew open in confusion. A brown Great Dane had tackled Eames and proceeded to lick his face. Eames struggled beneath the dog, but was thoroughly pinned, unable. Dazed, Arthur scrambled to his feet, unsure whether or not to laugh. A shrill whistle sounded from through the trees, and the dog ran away, leaving Eames in the snow, uncertainly. Arthur knew his next move was important, so he approached the forger and held out his hand.

Eames sat up and took Arthur's hand, allowing the object of his affection to help him to his feet. Arthur opened his mouth to speak, uncertainly, but an icy wind blew, and caused them both to shiver.

"Come on, we're both soaking and we'll catch our deaths if we stay out here much longer." Eames told him. Arthur nodded, keeping his face expressionless, and they trudged through the snow, freezing, teeth chattering, back to Arthur's apartment. Inside, Eames switched on the kettle, and sat, hunched at the kitchen table. Arthur pulled him up and steered him towards the shower, insisting that he warm up first.

Considerately, Eames only showered for a few minutes, so when he left the bathroom in only a towel, Arthur was too desperate to warm up to appreciate the forger's body. The hot water worked its wonders, and Arthur could feel his fingertips again. Since the bathroom had a door that led into his bedroom, Arthur didn't have to do a half-naked dash for clothing. Wrapping a towel securely around his waist, he stepped into his room, and pulled on some trousers, and a t-shirt, along with a Christmas sweater, adorned with a snowman.

Re-entering his kitchen, Eames set a cup down in front of him. Arthur inhaled it, and paused, suspiciously, sniffing at the cup.

"Is there brandy in this?" He asked, disbelievingly. "Where did you get it?"

Eames grinned. "Found it in the cupboard. Didn't think just coffee would do enough to warm us up."

Arthur sipped it, grateful for the forger's initiative when he felt the alcohol warm the rest of his body that the shower had missed. His stomach growled, so he abandoned his drink in pursuit of hot food. Unwilling to spend time cooking, he opened a can of chicken soup, and heated it on the stove. Eames made a sound of disapproval; Arthur was well acquainted with Eames' hatred of tinned foods, and his preference for fresh ingredients, but he was too impatient to cook.

After lunch, they decided against braving the weather outside, until the snow stopped. The afternoon was spent playing cards, for some loose change Eames found in his pocket. Eames regaled Arthur with stories of various poker games in which he'd cheated.

"Hennessey _clearly_ knew I was cheating, but for the life of him, he couldn't work out how! So after he lost his Rolls Royce, he overturned the table, and four aces flew out of his sleeve!" Eames chuckled.

Arthur roared with laughter. "Eames, how are there not bounties on your head?"

Eames grinned. "Because I'm smart enough to make myself look like the innocent party, and my charm doesn't exactly hurt."

Arthur shook his head, grinning. In the silence, they heard Eames' phone buzz. The forger reached for it and answered the call.

"Clint?" Arthur mouthed.

Eames nodded. "Clint?" He listened for a moment. "Yeah, Arthur had the same idea. He suggested you fly out and use my credit card. Where? Yes, I know it. Tonight? I'll be there."

He hung up. "Darling, Clint wants to meet in an hour, at a restaurant on Rue Scribe."

Arthur's head snapped up. "The Lumiére?"

Eames nodded, frowning. "You know it?"

"It has a Michelin star." Arthur breathed. "It's almost impossible to get reservations for. How did he manage it?"

Eames grinned. "Clint has his uses."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "I hope you realise that there is no way that we're going to the Lumiére without eating."

Eames looked at Arthur fondly. "Darling, I wouldn't expect anything less. I suppose I'll be going to get changed then."

They excused themselves, donning their best suits, and, when they were ready, Arthur drove to the restaurant. Clint was already seated, waiting for them, a glass of wine in front of him. Eames shook his hand warmly, and introduced them. Arthur liked the look of Clint, he had a genuine honesty to him that Arthur appreciated. They took to each other warmly, and Arthur made a note of his contact details. Competent point men were rare in their business, so it was always useful to keep track of any he came across.

The conversation turned to business, and Eames slid his credit card across the table towards Clint, who pocketed it, nodding once. A few minutes later, he rose, making his excuses.

"Please, stay, eat with us." Arthur offered. Clint shook his head, smiling.

"Another time, I promise. But I have a flight to catch; important business in Lisbon."

Eames nodded. "I owe you for this."

Clint grinned. "Nah, you don't. Call us even. Enjoy your night, Eames; Arthur, it was a pleasure to meet you. Don't hesitate to contact me for anything."

"Likewise." Arthur nodded. "Good night."

Eames turned to Arthur. "Looks like it's just you and me for dinner, darling. What do you like the look of?"

The waiter came over to take their order.

"I'll have the scallops to start, followed by the veal." Arthur decided.

Eames quickly scanned the menu. "The soup to start, followed by the salmon, I think."

The food was delicious, as Arthur knew it would be. He had to stop himself from moaning with appreciation. Everything was cooked to perfection, and even Eames had to agree that it was fantastic.

"Did you know that before I joined the army, I was a chef at a Michelin star restaurant?" Eames said conversationally.

Arthur nearly dropped his fork. "What? No! Really?"

He nodded. "The Fat Duck, in Berkshire. Owned by Hester Blumenthal."

Arthur was impressed. "So what happened?"

Eames bowed his head. "One of the patrons decided he didn't like my ice cream. He stormed into the kitchen and I was holding a knife. It was an accident, but I was dismissed. After that, I joined the army and signed up for Project Somnacin."

"Is that why you don't cook for just anyone?" Arthur asked. When Eames nodded, Arthur apologised.

"No need to apologise, darling, I brought it up. Didn't you already know all of this?"

Arthur shook his head, vehemently. "Absolutely not. I know you think that when I vet people I'm a little brutal, but anything before Project Somnacin isn't my business. That's as far back as I went."

Eames dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, but there was nothing on his face. "Fair enough. Are you ready to get out of here?" He signalled for the cheque at Arthur's nod. When the bill arrived, it should have been obvious that both of them would want to pay the bill, but neither of them had even considered it. In the end, Eames won; promising Arthur could pay next time, and sent Arthur to start the car.

In the car, Arthur sat quietly as he waited for Eames. He'd heard himself that Clint had arranged to meet them at the restaurant, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this had turned into a date. Once the other point man had left, they'd shared stories about their past, Eames had paid the bill and told Arthur he could pay the next time – a second date?

When Eames returned to the car, whistling, for a brief second, Arthur wondered if the forger would act any differently. When he didn't, Arthur cursed himself for being foolish, and drove home quietly. He waited until they'd shut the apartment door behind them before he'd blurted out his question.

"Was this a date?"

Eames paused, and Arthur could feel the forger's grey eyes burning into his face, but he kept his eyes fixed on the floor.

"Did it feel like a date?" Eames asked, quietly. Arthur forced himself to look up, reminding himself fiercely that this was _Eames_ and that he had no reason to be afraid.

Arthur nodded. "Yes."

"Would it be such a bad thing if it was?" Eames asked, lowering his eyes as if he couldn't bear to see Arthur's reaction.

Cautiously, Arthur stepped forward and took Eames' hand. "No." He said gently. "But I was wondering what happens now?"

Eames smiled. "Whatever you want to happen, darling." He leaned forward and brushed his lips against the corner of Arthur's mouth. "I'm exhausted, so I'm going to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

He paused. "Thank you, darling. For a wonderful evening."

He disappeared into his room and closed the door firmly. Once more, Arthur found himself standing in his apartment wondering exactly what the hell had just happened, only, this time, he found himself questioning the forger's motivation. Eames had been trying to get into Arthur's pants for years, via crude remarks, winks and lewd suggestions. The point man found himself wondering if this was just an abrupt change of tactic.

"Don't thank me yet." Arthur whispered after him. "I'm not playing your game."

Miserably, Arthur crawled onto his bed, and pressed his face into the pillow, desperate for sleep.

* * *

**24****th**** December 2012**

**Day Six:**

"I want to build a snowman."

Arthur frowned. Eames had spent most of the morning deep in discussion with Clint about a job that the other point man would be completing once he'd finished his business in Lisbon. Eames had only emerged after lunch, so Arthur's new found bad mood at last night's recognition had been taken out on the PASIV, which Arthur had scrubbed thoroughly. Now, Eames had approached Arthur, with what the point man considered to be an absurd request.

"A snowman?" He repeated, sceptically.

"Yes, darling, a snowman." Eames repeated patiently. "You know, one of those things that children make around this year. It's a man, but made of snow."

Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I know what a snowman is, Mr Eames, I'm just questioning why your maturity seems to have rapidly decreased overnight." He replied snippily.

Eames blinked at him, surprised by Arthur's sudden attitude. "Well, snowball fights don't exactly fall under the typical behaviour of a responsible adult." He pointed out, perplexed. "I just thought it would be fun."

"Has Francis made a move yet?" Arthur interrupted. "The sooner this is over with, the better."

A flash of hurt crossed Eames' face. "Clint mentioned earlier; he booked into a hotel around 3am. He's keeping tabs on Francis and he'll call when Francis realises I'm not in Lisbon." He paused. "Have I done something wrong, Arthur?"

"No." Arthur said curtly, pushing past him into the kitchen and pouring himself a cup of coffee. "You've just invaded my Christmas, and I'm wondering when I can have my peace and quiet back."

Silence met his words, and Arthur turned around, expecting Eames to be standing there looking hurt, but the forger was gone. The click of his front door alerted Arthur to Eames' exit. Arthur realised that he'd gone too far, and sank into a chair, sighing. He hadn't meant to upset Eames, he was just doing his best to distance himself from the forger and this was the only way he knew how. Since the Fischer job, Eames had gotten under his skin, and over the last six days, Arthur had felt himself growing feelings for him.

He knew what Eames was like, he'd seen the forger charm and flirt and seduce everyone around him, and Arthur didn't just want to be another notch on his bedpost. While he understood that it was hardly Eames' fault that Arthur was falling in love with him, the forger had to take some responsibility that he was hardly trying to deter the point man. He was doing his utmost to encourage Arthur's feelings, and that wasn't the act of someone who claimed to consider Arthur his best friend. It was cruel, to encourage Arthur's feelings when it would end up breaking his heart, because Arthur's wasn't so foolish as to believe that he would be the conquest that Eames would fall for.

But he wanted to salvage a friendship out of the mess they'd ended up in, and to do that, he would have to start by apologising. Arthur dressed quickly, throwing on a t-shirt and jeans and jogging out of the door. He didn't even stop to consider where Eames might have gone, he just ran towards the park, ignoring the fact that he'd forgotten his jacket, and the snow was past his ankles, soaking him thoroughly.

He knew Eames would be there. Sure enough, when Arthur got to the park, he found Eames sitting on the bench he'd hidden behind during their snowball fight yesterday. Eames looked up as he approached, and his expression closed.

"What do you want, Arthur?" Eames asked, angrily. "I'm sorry I'm such an inconvenience, but remember that it's not just my own fucking head that Francis is after."

"I'm sorry." Arthur said quietly. "I didn't mean it at all, I… Christ, Eames, I'm a fucking idiot."

Eames' face lost some of its bitterness at the apology. Clearly Arthur had caught him off guard.

"You're not an inconvenience, and you never could be. And while I _am_ looking forward to this being over, getting rid of you is not the reason why." Arthur told him, firmly, but the effect was diminished as his teeth started chattering.

Eames frowned disapprovingly at Arthur's attire. He slipped off his jacket and wrapped it around Arthur's shoulders. "Here, darling. Next time you need to run after me, stop for a jacket first." He smiled. Arthur smiled back.

"Come on, let's get a hot chocolate." Arthur suggested.

Eames stopped him. "That's fine, darling, but you're not getting off the hook that easily. You can buy me a hot chocolate, but then you're going to sit down and tell me exactly what your problem was this morning, and don't even think about lying to me." He warned. "Then we'll discuss what I can do to make sure this doesn't happen again." He added kindly.

Arthur swallowed, nodding. Eames wasn't being unreasonable, and was reacting with a lot more compassion that Arthur would have shown had the situation been reversed. Which, Arthur realised, it never had been. Eames had carefully avoided anything that could potentially hurt Arthur. They approached the small bistro they'd visited earlier in the week, and Arthur ordered them both a hot chocolate with whipped cream to take out. They walked back to the apartment, and Eames uncapped his lid and drank deeply. When he lowered the cup, Arthur snorted with laughter at the whipped cream smeared on Eames' nose.

"What?" Eames asked, frowning and Arthur laughed again.

"Come here." He gestured. "You've got whipped cream right here."

Unable to help himself, he kissed Eames' nose, and wiped away most of the whipped cream. The forger froze with delight and stared at Arthur, who leaned forward again.

"And here." He kissed Eames' cheek.

Eames' face relaxed, but his eyes met Arthur's in anticipation. "Anywhere else?" He asked quietly.

Arthur tensed. "No, you're good." He smiled, uncertainly. A kiss would undo his resolve, and he refused to let Eames fuck him and then walk away. Their friendship would be unsalvageable.

They walked back to the apartment in silence. At the door, Clint called, and Eames fumbled for his phone, before he realised it was in the jacket he'd handed to Arthur. The point man reached for the phone and handed it to Eames silently, before unlocking his front door.

"He's on his way? When? Tonight? I…" He paused, looking at Arthur. "Fine, but give me a few hours. I'll see you tonight."

"Francis took the bait?" Arthur asked, immediately.

Eames nodded. "Yes, he's checked out the hotel, and found a lovely homeless man that Clint left there. He's booked a flight for tomorrow morning. I need to be there tonight. But before I go _anywhere_, I want to know what happened earlier."

Arthur paused. "It's not important. I made a bad call. You should get to Lisbon, this might be your only shot at this."

Eames sat down, and crossed his arms, stubbornly. Arthur sighed, recognising that this was one argument he wouldn't win.

"Was it about the date?" Eames asked, hesitantly. "Because if you're not interested, I do understand. My pride can handle it."

"Look, Eames, I'm flattered that you find me attractive, I really am, and I really did enjoy our date last night, but I'm not looking for the same things that you are." Arthur told him. "You're a good friend, possibly my _only_ friend, and I don't want to jeopardise that for anything."

Eames nodded, sadly. "Of course. I consider you my best friend, Arthur, you know that, but if we have a chance to be happy, we should take it."

Arthur frowned. "I don't think we could go back from that. And I'd place our friendship higher than a quick fumble between the sheets."

Eames nodded, accepting Arthur's choice, but he looked so forlorn as he disappeared to pack that Arthur couldn't help but question his own decision. He followed Eames into his room and froze when he saw the forger's packed bag, with his pistol lying on top. The reality and the gravity of what Eames was about to do hit him, and he realised he couldn't let Eames go alone.

"Call Clint back, I want a seat on that flight." Arthur ordered. "I'm coming with you."

Eames' head snapped up, furiously. "You bloody well are _not_." He said firmly. "We've been through this, Arthur, you agreed to let me handle this alone."

"I can't send you off to Francis and stay here wondering whether you'll come back alive." Arthur argued, his volume rising. "How can you ask me to do that?"

"Because I don't want you anywhere near him!" Eames yelled. "Anyone else could be buggered for all I care, let them take their own risks, but not you."

"Why not me?" Arthur snapped. "I can handle myself better than most, or is it that you doubt my abilities now?"

"Of course I fucking don't! You're the only person in this bloody business I _don't_ doubt. But you also happen to be the only person I will not risk getting hurt!" Eames stood firm.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Arthur retorted.

Eames stopped, uncertainly. "You're telling me you honestly don't know? In the last week alone, I've taken a bullet to protect you, I've cooked for you and told you the reason why I don't ever do that for anyone. I've taken you on a fucking date, and in thirty years, I've never had a better Christmas. I've been in love with you for years, darling; you can't honestly expect me to believe you never noticed?"

"You…are?" Arthur blinked, his tone almost a whisper. "Why didn't you ever say something?"

Eames smiled at him and it was so fake, Arthur would have given everything he owned never to see that look on his face again.

"Before this week, what would you have said?" Eames shrugged, miserably. "I could handle your rejection as long as I never said it aloud. And then everything that happened this week, how much fun we had, I thought maybe things would change, but then it turned out you only wanted… well, it doesn't matter."

"You want … a relationship?" Arthur asked.

Eames' eyes snapped up to meet Arthur's. "Darling, I know you think that I'm a Casanova, but I assure you, the number of people I've taken to bed in my lifetime are very few. You know how I feel about you, Arthur, how could a 'quick fumble between the sheets' ever be enough?"

Arthur was speechless. "I'm still coming." He eventually decided on, hoarsely.

Eames shook his head. "You're not, darling, and I'll tell Clint to buy the flight if I have to. Don't even think about getting involved, I mean it."

Seeing Eames was really going to leave him behind, Arthur practically flung himself at the forger and pressed his lips to Eames' firmly. At the contact, something deep inside them both snapped, and years of pent up longing and frustration came flooding out. Eames pressed the point man against the wall roughly, moving his lips hungrily against Arthur's. In retaliation Arthur bit Eames' lip, causing the forger to gasp and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into Eames' mouth and caress his tongue gently.

They didn't pull away until they were desperate for air. Eames glanced at his watch, and regret filled his eyes. His hands were still biting into Arthur's hips, as though he were afraid to let go in case Arthur changed his mind. He picked up his bag and slid the gun into his jacket pocket.

"Darling, if this all goes pear-shaped." He swallowed. "I just want to say…"

Arthur cut him off. "Don't thank me yet." He said desperately. "Just don't. I can't hear a goodbye, or I won't be able to let you go. Come back to me, and tell me then."

"And… this?" Eames asked, hesitantly.

"We'll talk about that too." Arthur assured him. They needed to. Something in the air had changed between them, and, now he knew how Eames felt, a conclusion needed to be reached.

Eames nodded, and pressed a lingering kiss to Arthur's forehead.

"Tomorrow." He promised, and he was gone, leaving Arthur behind once again.

* * *

**25****th**** December 2012**

**Day Seven:**

Arthur woke up on Christmas morning to an empty flat. The silence was deafening, the emptiness hollowing. It took him more than fifteen minutes to summon the will to leave his bed, and that was only after he'd checked his phone four times for any messages from Eames. There weren't any. Arthur resisted the urge to switch on his laptop, knowing he would be tempted to check up on the forger and potentially interfere. Eames wouldn't appreciate it if Arthur got involved after he'd been expressly forbidden to.

The apartment was suffocating, but it was Christmas morning, so nobody would be awake. Arthur retrieved Eames' present from his dresser and placed it neatly under the tree. He settled down and picked up his worn copy Wuthering Heights, but he couldn't concentrate. He'd read the book cover to cover a million times, and had even made notes in the margins. He flipped to his favourite quote and murmured it aloud.

"Be with me always – take any form – drive me mad! only _do_ not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I _cannot_ live without my life! I _cannot_ live without my soul!"

While Arthur wouldn't be so naive as to think Eames was his life or his soul, he could sympathise with Heathcliff more than he'd ever thought; his fear that Eames wouldn't make it back alive, a constant nagging at the back of his mind. The rest of him recognised that nobody would be able to pull this off if Eames couldn't, the Englishmen could blend in with the crowds, could go unnoticed when people were looking for him. Francis wouldn't know that Eames was there until it was too late.

The morning passed by slowly. As the afternoon began, Arthur got started on Christmas dinner, roasting the turkey, preparing the mash, cooking the pigs in blankets. He worked mechanically, trying not to dwell on the fact that it would have been a lot more fun, and probably tasted a hell of a lot better if Eames had been there to help. He slid Eames' plate into the microwave, and made the gravy.

Sitting down with his plate, Arthur sighed and cut into the turkey. Before the first mouthful reached his lips, Arthur's ears caught the sound of a key scraping in the lock. He whirled around, whipping out his Glock and pointing it at the doorway.

"Arthur?" Eames called.

Arthur lowered the gun and placed it on the table, sighing with relief. He swept towards Eames, meeting him in the doorway. They paused awkwardly and Arthur took in the forger's face, tired, but his eyes were shining.

"Why didn't you call me? I was going out of my mind!" Arthur snapped.

Eames shrugged and apologised.

"Francis?" Arthur asked, hesitantly.

"Dead." Eames told him, regret clouding his expression. He hated taking a life, but there were times when exceptions had to be made. He didn't offer any more details, and Arthur didn't ask for them.

He nodded, and an awkward silence descended upon them, broken when Eames' stomach gurgled loudly. He grinned sheepishly, and Arthur remembered that he'd made dinner. It was still hot, so he brought it to the table, along with the gravy boat. Eames sat down gratefully and began shovelling the food into his mouth. He apologised for his lack of manners and explained that he hadn't eaten since he left Paris.

"It's not bad, darling." Eames told him, referring to the food. "But you've Americanised it. Next year I'll make you a proper Christmas dinner."

He paused, as he realised he was assuming something they hadn't even discussed. Arthur grinned at him.

"As long as you do the shopping. It was a nightmare carrying those bags upstairs." He laughed.

Eames face lit up. "Whatever you say, darling." He paused. "Are we going to talk about this?"

Arthur looked up at him, intensely. "We can if you like." He said, hesitantly. "But I was thinking that there isn't really anything to talk about."

Eames' face fell, and Arthur realised how his words had sounded, and amended himself quickly.

"No, no, that's not what I meant. What I meant was that we both want this. You're in love with me, and I…" he paused. "I'm not there yet, but I know that I could. This last week, it's just been everything I wanted, like I didn't even know there was something missing from my life until you arrived. If it's still what you want, I'd like to give us a try."

Eames abandoned his plate and moved over to Arthur, kneeling in front of him.

"Darling," Eames told him. "I'm going to kiss you now."

"Please." Arthur breathed, before the gap between them was closed and Eames was kissing him like there was no tomorrow. Arthur entwined his fingers in the forger's hair and deepened the kiss, feeling Eames' arms wrap around his neck.

When they broke away, they were both grinning like fools.

"I love you." Eames breathed, kissing Arthur's lips again lightly. "You really want this?"

"I do." Arthur promised him. "I really do."

They abandoned their meals and retired to the living room to exchange gifts. Eames adored his gloves, and in return, gave Arthur two tasteful, silk Versace ties. They curled up in front of the fire and watched It's A Wonderful Life. When they retired to bed, together, on the condition that they did nothing other than sleep, and Eames wrapped his arms around Arthur and held him tight, Arthur couldn't believe how much of an impact the forger had made on his life, just by spending one Christmas together.

"Darling, I never did thank you." Eames murmured, sleepily, pressing a kiss to Arthur's shoulder.

Arthur smiled. "Don't thank me yet, Eames."

In that one sentence, Arthur was letting Eames know that there were no guarantees of what the future would bring, but just in that moment, they were content with finding each other.

"Merry Christmas, Mr Eames." Arthur whispered.

"Merry Christmas, darling."

* * *

**I've taken a break from La Vie En Rose in order to write this oneshot, but now that's over, I'll be returning to La Vie, although any updates may slow due to excessive exam revision :( **

**Please review! Let me know what you think! -DD**


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